The Stranded Heart
by MizJoely
Summary: The Enterprise crew to the rescue when intergalactic meddler Q decides to strand Beverly Crusher & Cpt. Picard on a distant planet. PicardCrusher
1. Meddling

**Prologue - Somewhere In Space**

"My dear, would you care to read aloud to me?"

Vash looked up warily. She had gotten to know Q fairly well as they travelled together, and she recognized that oh-so-innocent tone of his. Besides, whenever he disappeared without explanation and then simply reappeared, also without explanation, she knew he was up to something. "Why?" she asked, a half-smile of anticipation hovering about her lips in spite of her intentions otherwise. Life with Q was never boring, she could certainly say that much.

He sat down on the floor by her feet, the innocent expression replaced by one of wounded dignity. "My dear Vash, why take such a tone with me?" Q pressed a dramatic hand against his heart--if he even had such an organ, a matter of much speculation among the beings who had dealt with him in the past. Especially the crew of a certain Galaxy-class starship. "I'm hurt that you feel the need to ask me that. I merely thought I might make another attempt at understanding humans better by delving into your philosophy. And you know how I love to hear the dulcet tones of your velvet voice..."

Vash's wry smile deepened as she shook her head. Once Q's speech became that flowery, it was impossible to get him to answer anything he didn't want to answer. It would be far easier to play along with him; eventually, he'd get to the point. "What do you want me to read?" she asked resignedly. "Plato? Aristotle? T'kuhl?"

Q shuddered distastefully and leaned back against the leather sofa he'd created at her request, along with the roaring fire and bearskin rug they were presently seated in front of. The entire "room" was merely floating, with neither walls nor ceiling, in the middle of space, but Vash had gotten used to Q's sense of showmanship and barely even noticed their surroundings anymore.

The master of showmanship raised a negligent hand. "Nothing so dull as that," he protested. Vash gave him her full attention, alerted by his tone. He was definitely up to something. "I have something a little more...current in mind." A book instantly appeared between his fingers, leather-bound, with no title apparent on the cover. Only three small initials embossed in gold leaf on the lower right-hand corner: JLP. Vash's eyes narrowed suspiciously as Q added: "Something a little more pertinent to the here and now," with a sly grin that belied his air of innocence.

"Is that what I think it is?" Vash reached for the volume, only to have Q pull his hand away teasingly.

"I find it absolutely fascinating that you humans feel such a compulsion to record your thoughts, your innermost feelings, and to keep those records where just anyone can find them," her companion said musingly, turning the book over in his hands as if to examine it more closely.

"And exactly where was this that 'just anyone' could find it?" Vash shot back, drawn into the game as she knew she would be. Q knew darn well that she could never resist a challenge. And Jean-Luc Picard had definitely been a challenge. She was dying to know what Q was doing with the captain's private journal.

"What, this?" Q looked at the book in feigned surprise. "I had a...small errand to perform on the _Enterprise_1, and when I finished, I went to say good-bye to my dear friend." A pause. "Unfortunately, he wasn't available at that time, and of course I needed to return to you, but I did happen to spot this handsome volume lying around his quarters before I left."

"Just lying around his quarters," Vash repeated drily. She stared at him, eyebrow raised. Waiting.

Q coughed delicately behind one hand. _Caught,_ that sound said. But if he was caught, it was only because he wanted to be. More showmanship. "Well, it was locked in a drawer, granted, but it may as well have been lying about in the open to someone of my modest abilities. I just _knew_ Picard would want me to read it," Q added virtuously. "After all, he's the one who's always giving me those boring, sanctimonious lectures about how little I know of human nature." He tossed the book lightly from hand to hand. "A subject Picard fancies himself the expert on."

Vash snatched the book out of Q's hands, ignoring his words as she looked the volume over critically. "Old fashioned, but then, Jean-Luc's just the type to prefer something like this to a computer record," she murmured, tracing the letters with one finger. She looked up at Q. "You want me to read this to you? You haven't read it already?"

She showed no signs of reluctance at the idea of reading Picard's private thoughts; indeed, she seemed eager to do so, Q noted gleefully. Vash was rarely predictable, but when she was, it was generally to his advantage. He shook his head in response to her question as he moved up to sit on the sofa. "I thought this was a special moment we should share together." With those words, Q swung his feet up and maneuvered his head onto her lap. He closed his eyes. "Would you mind?"

Vash shook her head once again before settling herself more comfortably on the sofa and opening the book at random. "Where should I begin?"

"Try the last few entries," Q murmured, his eyes still closed. "I think you'll find them extremely interesting."

Vash frowned down at his peaceful face, then shrugged and turned to the pages he'd indicated. She didn't really expect him to tell the truth all the time, not even to her. She began reading.

_Author's Note: This story takes place between ST:TNG episode "True Q" and ST:DS9 episode "Q-Less", and was written and published in 1995 in Involution 8 (Orion Press). Let me know what you think! Oh yeah, I guess it could be considered an A/U story. And I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters herein. (Except the snakes. They'll show up later.)_


	2. Dilemma

**The _Enterprise_**

"Beverly, I am receiving the distinct impression that your mind isn't really on this workout."

Beverly Crusher sighed mightily and flopped down onto the mat. She shook an errant strand of red hair out of her eyes, then glanced over at the speaker. "Why?" she asked with a sly grin. "Am I radiating negative vibrations?"

Deanna Troi rolled her eyes and joined her friend on the floor with a gracefully fluid motion the doctor envied. "First of all, that is a totally inaccurate term," the ship's counselor replied with mock severity. "Second of all, I don't need to use my empathic abilities to know that something's on your mind. What's troubling you?"

Crusher shook her head ruefully. "Dee, you are getting to know me far too well," she complained, avoiding the question. "Am I getting charged for this counseling session?" Troi said nothing, merely waited with an expectantly raised eyebrow. It didn't take the doctor long to reach the decision to give in gracefully. "I'm not really sure what's bothering me," she confessed. "It's just that, lately I feel...restless."

"Restless?" Troi repeated. "In what way?"

Crusher shrugged, then jumped to her feet to pace around the edge of the small exercise room. "I don't know," she said crossly. "If I knew that, then I could do something about it. It isn't Wesley, or at least, not more than usual," she added wryly. "And it's not that I'm unhappy here. It doesn't feel like 'moving' restlessness. Do you know what I mean?" She glanced back at the other woman, who nodded encouragingly. "I don't feel as if it's time to move on or make changes in my career." She came full circle and stopped in front of the still-seated Deanna Troi. "The fact that I can't pin down the source of this feeling is driving me absolutely crazy." She plopped back down on the mat. "Any suggestions?"

A thoughtful expression crossed the Counselor's face. "You say it isn't your career or your son that are bothering you. Aren't those the most important aspects of your life right now?"

"I'd have to say they _are_ my life," Crusher replied wistfully. She was about to add something when she stopped, sat up straighter and looked at the other woman suspiciously. "Dee, why do I have the feeling I know what you're going to tell me my problem is?"

"Because you know me as well as I know you," the ship's counselor replied serenely. "And you know yourself far better than most people do. Some people need to have a constant guide in order to reach their own emotions. Others, like you, only need a hint every now and then to help them get on track. Something in your life is lacking; it isn't Wesley and it isn't being the CMO of the _Enterprise_ or being in Starfleet. Therefore, it must be something else. The fact is, right now there _are_ no other aspects to your life." She winced at her own bluntness. "I know I'm putting this badly, but it's something I've been concerned about for some time now."

"You make it sound as if I have no friends, no social life," Crusher protested, clasping her arms around her drawn-up knees. "That just isn't true."

"Of course it isn't," Troi agreed. "But let me ask you this: are you involved with anyone right now?"

"Involved?" Crusher asked blankly.

Troi nodded. "Involved," she repeated. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Crusher shifted uncomfortably, but didn't jump to her feet again, which Troi saw as a good sign. When the doctor paced, it was due to an unconscious desire to avoid the subject. That desire was definitely present in her friend today, but Crusher wanted to solve the restlessness more than she wanted to avoid an uncomfortable subject. "No," she admitted after a long pause. "Not since Odan."

"And before him?" Troi prodded.

Another painful silence, then: "I hadn't really seen anyone since Jack died."

Troi felt her eyebrows climbing skyward at that revelation. "No one?"

"Nothing long-term," Crusher clarified. "Nothing that went beyond casual. Even my relationship with Odan seems...very distant in my memory. As if it happened a long time ago, to a different person." She ducked her head self-consciously. "I still don't know how I feel about that whole situation."

"Mixed emotions at the end of any relationship are common; we just have to get used to the fact that sometimes they're never resolved. One of my mother's favorite sayings is that things always work out in the end." A rueful pause. "Of course, she used to take great pleasure in reminding me that they don't necessarily work out the way we expect them to." Troi jumped to her feet. "That's enough philosophizing for now. I am officially calling this unofficial counseling session to a close."

Crusher also stood up as Troi asked: "Would it be fair to say we've isolated the causes of your restlessness?" Crusher nodded cautiously. "Well, then, Doctor Crusher, as ship's counselor, I recommend you try and find a solution to that problem. If you want to talk to me about it, you know my door is always open, but in this type of situation, I generally encourage people to work things out for themselves. Otherwise, they might begin to depend on others for answers to their problems." She shook her head and smiled. "I think that's enough advice-giving for one day. Just promise me you'll think about what I've said." She waited for Crusher's nod of assent, then deliberately changed the subject by asking: "How about a trip to Ten-Forward for a hot fudge sundae?" She glanced around the exercise room with an expression of vague distaste. "I think we've earned it."

Crusher stood, arms crossed, through the entire speech, and retained that pose as she slowly shook her head. "Deanna," she said wonderingly, "I will never understand how you can make such quick diagnoses--and be 100 _right_, I might add--and yet take three _hours_ deciding what to wear to a party." It was her turn to leave Troi speechless, and the knowing grin plastered across the doctor's face as she turned and headed for the door let the ship's counselor know that her friend was extremely pleased to have scored such a good-natured point.

**oOo**

It was the end of the day. After spending far too much time in Sickbay going over crew files and compiling her monthly reports, Crusher was in Ten-Forward once again, this time for dinner. Alone. Not that she always ate alone; most of the time, in fact, she ate with company. Either with Deanna Troi or one or more members of her medical staff, not to mention the occasional dinner with Jean-Luc Picard. It was just that, once in a while, she wanted to eat by herself. It gave her a chance to think.

Tonight was not one of those voluntary times. She'd already thought over what she and Troi had discussed, and all she wanted to do now was stop thinking about it, at least for a while; it was starting to give her a terrible headache. But everyone else already had plans, so she found herself alone in Ten-Forward with a bowl of soup and half a chicken sandwich.

Even Guinan, whom Crusher could usually count on to provide conversation or consolation, whichever seemed to be required at any given time, wasn't there. "She had a family emergency and went on leave for a couple of months," her assistant, Rico, told the doctor with an apologetic shrug. Naturally.

It was extremely frustrating, and Crusher decided to cut her evening short. Maybe if she took a nice, relaxing soak in a hot tub and read a chapter or two of the book Jean-Luc had loaned her, she'd be able to get to sleep. No more thinking, she told herself firmly. At least not tonight. She wolfed down the rest of her sandwich, waved good-bye to Rico, and headed for her quarters.

**oOo**

Sleep, so eagerly courted, naturally refused to come. Sighing with exasperation an hour after she'd tried to retire for the night, Crusher gave in somewhat less than gracefully to the inevitable, turned on the light and rose from bed. Her discussion with Deanna and its inescapable conclusion kept running through her mind, refusing to be ignored any longer.

She was lonely.

What was more, she'd been lonely for a long time, only she hadn't noticed it until now. Between her work and her son, life seemed much fuller. Work might still be there, but Wesley was removed from her immediate life, and she was amazed at the hole he left behind. A hole as big as the one created by Jack Crusher's death. No, surely it was the same hole left by her husband's passing; why hadn't she noticed, after all this time, that it hadn't ever truly gone away, that instead Wesley had filled it? Wesley and work? Now the edges were caving in once again. Work just wasn't enough to fill it, not with her son away at Starfleet Academy.

Crusher frowned. That was another thing she'd been trying not to think too much about, her son's recent trouble at the Academy. At least he hadn't irredeemably destroyed his future with Starfleet. But it wasn't actually that worry she'd been avoiding; it was the selfish voice from the back of her mind that whispered, _and would that have been so bad?_

She walked a restless circle around her room and shook her head violently, as if to dislodge the thought. Part of her was terrified that one day someone would be taking her gently aside to tell her that her son wouldn't ever be coming home again. That fear, she reluctantly acknowledged to herself, was part of the reason she hadn't allowed herself to get close to anyone, to fall in love again, especially not with someone in Starfleet.

Or at least, not to acknowledge those feelings if she had them.

That thought made her pause, in the middle of reaching for the bottle of wine that stood on her dresser. Where had it come from? She wasn't in love with anyone, for heaven's sake! Crusher shook her head again, this time in exasperation, and turned away from the bottle, a gift from Captain Picard.

"I think a walk will do me some good," she murmured, reaching to pull her favorite blue sweater over her head. She grabbed a pair of pants and tugged her low blue boots on over her socks, hopping slightly as she headed for the door. Her feet regained their normal confident stride as she stepped out of her quarters.

And came to a stumbling halt as she suddenly, inexplicably found herself in the middle of a forest.

_Author's Note: I forgot. I own Rico, too. Made him up myself and use him in any NG story that requires a) a Ten Forward scene that b) Guinan doesn't/can't appear in._


	3. Thickening the Plot

**The Next Morning**

"Captain's log, Stardate 45713.8. In the midst of our current mapping expedition in the Aurelian Sector, we have received a distress call from the Federation Free Trader _Far Traveler_. While attempting a new route through this sector, they were unexpectedly caught in an ion storm that damaged both their warp and impulse engines. An engineering contingent and a medical team are being assembled to beam over once we reach the disabled vessel."

Picard shook his head wryly at the main view screen. "You never learn, do you Lori?" he asked, his voice tinged as much with amusement as disapproval. When they'd received the distress call this morning, his first reaction had been a brief exclamation in French that caused Will Riker to raise his eyebrow and Deanna Troi to visibly wince--although it was far more likely that she was reacting to the emotions behind the curse rather than to the words themselves. All of which led to the captain's reluctant admission that Captain Crosby was his cousin--and one who seemed to constantly be in trouble of one kind or another. _So much for the hope that the captaincy of her own ship would settle her down,_ he thought wryly, then returned his attention to the view screen before him.

The slender, green-eyed blonde facing the _Enterprise_ bridge crew shrugged elaborately, then winced and brought her hand up to her shoulder. "I bruised it," she said briefly, her tendency to minimize personal injury exactly as Picard remembered. "But hey, what can I say? You win some, you lose some." She shrugged again, more carefully this time, then brushed impatiently at the few strands of hair that had escaped her tightly braided coiffure to dangle impudently in front of her left eye. "I should never have trusted a map bought cheap from a Ferengi." She grinned sheepishly.

Picard smiled back in spite of himself, still shaking his head. He was extremely fond of his American cousin, despite her rather impetuous nature. "You were lucky your ship wasn't more badly damaged," he chided her gently, "and that no lives were lost. Not to mention the fact that we happened to be close enough to hear your distress call. What," he added innocently, "would your mother say?"

That remark brought a grimace and, briefly, a roll of the eyes. "What she always says. That I should give up this foolishness and plant my ass back on Earth, where it belongs. And," she added with a devilish glint in her eyes, "she'd say it was all your fault for being irresponsible enough to join Starfleet in the first place, thus becoming a bad influence on me. Also for not getting here sooner to rescue her poor, helpless, idiotic daughter." She fluttered her eyelashes extravagantly.

Picard had no response for that bit of outrageousness, but heard what sounded suspiciously like a suppressed snort of laughter from the chair next to him. Apparently Commander Riker was finding this introduction to one of his captain's relatives vastly amusing. The fact that this particular relative was young, female and attractive was an added incentive. Once they'd finished the repairs to her ship and crew, Picard's first officer would no doubt entice Lori into sharing a tour of the _Enterprise_, ending up with dinner in Ten-Forward and a night-cap in his cabin. Then, using all his considerable charm and powers of persuasion...he would pump Lori for every ounce of information on the captain he could get. A shudder almost went over Picard's frame at the thought of what she could say about him--and what Will could do with that information--but he managed to control the motion as he returned his attention to the woman on the screen.

"All that aside," he said briskly, "we should be arriving at your position momentarily. Engineering and medical teams are standing by." Picard smiled again. "We'll see you in a few min--"

He vanished.

On the bridge of the _Far Traveler_, his cousin frowned and blinked rapidly, not quite sure what she'd just seen. A flash of brilliant white light in a starburst pattern that caused spots to dance before her eyes, then, as they quickly cleared...Jean-Luc was no longer in the command chair. "Hey! What's going on?" she demanded in alarm.

Picard's first officer had jumped to his feet and was staring disbelievingly at the same place, shouting for a red alert. The Klingon, Worf, looked up from tactical, snarling angrily as his fingers automatically punched in the code that would bring the ship to alert status. The lighting on the bridge dimmed as alarms began wailing in the background. All eyes were focused on the central chairs, including Lori's, but she forced them away as she called out to Riker again.

The commander turned at the sound of her voice. He'd almost forgotten the _Far Traveler's_ presence with the onset of this new emergency. "Captain, we'll get back to you as soon as we find something out," he said tersely, the words a clear dismissal. Suddenly, her minimally disabled vessel had become a secondary priority.

Lori nodded briefly, managing somehow to control her emotions. She felt more like screaming than saying coolly: "Of course. Let me know what we can do to help." She glanced down, then back up at Riker. "Our scanners are still operational. We'll start looking for anything out of the ordinary. Keep in touch," she added sharply, waiting for Riker's assenting nod before signing off and returning the screen to its normal, serene view of space.

A view Riker never noticed. "Computer," he snapped urgently, "locate Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"Captain Picard is not on the _Enterprise_," came the coolly feminine voice.

"Q 'borrowed' him." Riker, who was still facing the main screen, whirled around in surprise at the sound of that unexpected voice from the central command seats.

It took Riker a second to recognize the speaker, and when he did, it only added to his confusion. Vash, the captain's "friend," was sitting calmly in Picard's recently vacated chair. She was dressed in the same short, black dress she'd been wearing when Riker first met her, with the incongruous addition of a tan pith helmet perched on top of her straight, shoulder-length brown hair. She looked up at him, a wry smile on her face, then glanced around the bridge, silent now except for the blaring alarms. Worf's expression was decidedly hostile as he shut the volume off with a single, expressive motion. Vash's smile vanished as she returned her gaze to the first officer, whose face was almost as hostile as the Klingon's, and looked especially forbidding in the glaring red light of the alert. "He put him down on one of the planets in this sector." She waved her hand vaguely toward the view screen and the stars still shining softly there. "And said to tell you that it's up to you to find him after helping the people on that other ship." She waved toward the screen once again as an annoyed expression crossed her face. "Then he oh-so-kindly dumped me here to 'observe.' But don't expect me to be very helpful."

"Why?" Worf interrupted with a snarl. "Are your loyalties to Q stronger than your loyalties to your own kind? Or to the captain?"

Vash swiveled her head to glare up at the Security Chief, unintimidated by either his tone or his menacing stance. "No," she retorted sharply, holding his gaze with her own. "I simply mean that I have no idea where Jean-Luc is or what exactly Q's planning for him. I _can_ say that it isn't something that'll put him in any danger." A doubtful expression crept into her eyes. "At least, I don't _think_ it will."

The expression that flashed into Riker's eyes was not what one would call doubtful. "Vash, would you mind stepping into the captain's ready room with me?" he asked as politely as he could manage through gritted teeth.

Vash looked up at him, a flippant response on her tongue, then thought better of it. "Certainly, Commander," she replied grandly, rising from the chair and following him from the bridge.

"Mr. Data, you have the conn," Riker said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Worf's growl before the two of them disappeared behind the doors to the ready room.

_Author's Note: OK, OK, I own Captain Crosby as well. Sheesh. Gimme a break! I forgot how many personally created characters I sprinkled throughout this story. But I honestly believe this is the last one. Maybe. Oh, and I don't actually own her name since I "borrowed" it from a former co-worker. See, Lori, I didn't abuse it, I gave it to a pretty woman in charge of her own ship. Don't hate me._


	4. Stirring the Pot

**oOo**

"All right, lady, I want some answers and I want them now," Riker snapped as soon as the doors shut behind them. He walked behind the captain's desk, hesitating only briefly before lowering himself into the chair.

Vash shrugged and sank gracefully into one of the seats opposite, meeting Riker's gaze as frankly as she'd met Worf's. "Like I said, Commander, I have no idea what Q has in mind. All he told me was that he still had something to prove to Jean-Luc." She pulled the pith helmet off and tossed it onto the captain's desk, reaching up to brush impatiently at her hair.

"Did he say what exactly he needed to prove to Captain Picard?" Riker asked icily, glancing down at the helmet with an expression of annoyance, then looking back at Vash.

His heavy emphasis on Picard's title did not go unnoticed by Vash. "No," she replied sarcastically, ignoring Riker's pointed glare. "He did not tell me what he needed to prove to Captain Picard. He doesn't let me in on all his little secrets, you know." She glanced around the ready room. "And in case you're wondering why I'm still here, I can only teleport when Q wants me to. Believe me," she added drily, "I've been trying ever since I found myself on the bridge. I'm stuck here, Commander, whether you like it or not."

"Well, I don't like it," Riker said, sounding less hostile but still unenthusiastic, "but I suppose I can live with it."

"Thanks," Vash replied drily. "You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome."

Riker grinned at her unexpectedly, a rueful smile. "I'm sorry if I seem antagonistic, but you of all people should know how we feel about Q. Especially about Q kidnapping people off this ship."

"Quite frankly, nothing he does surprises me," Vash admitted with a shrug as she pulled her helmet off the desk and dropped it carelessly to the floor. She leaned back in her chair and studied Riker thoughtfully. "Commander, there's no reason I can't try to help you locate the captain. Now that I've had time to think about it, I'd be willing to bet that's the real reason Q left me here. After all," she added, "he's the one who likes to do the observing." Her eyes strayed ceilingward and another wry smile crossed her face before she returned her attention to Riker. "Believe me, I'm as much a pawn in this game as you are." With those words, she reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small, flat box. Riker watched skeptically as she depressed the single red button on top of it.

Suddenly, hovering above Picard's desk was a large, three-dimensional star chart. "This is our current position," Vash declared, depressing the button once again. A small, glowing blue dot appeared. "Here's the disabled ship you're helping." Another glowing dot appeared, this one red. "This is a map of the planets Q and I have visited." This time a touch of the button produced a sparse collection of small, blinking green triangles, each connected to the other by a single white line. Another touch of the button and a random selection of bright purple squares appeared. "These are all the systems containing planets in this sector." She looked back at Riker expectantly. "Where do you think we should start?"

Riker was still staring at the map she'd just created, all from touching a single button. "How did you do that?" he asked, distracted for the moment by the apparent impossibility of it.

"What, this?" Vash replied. She glanced down at the device, shrugged and laid it on the table. "A gift from Q. It responds to thought waves; the button is just a focal point."

Riker shook his head, then looked back at Vash. "Well, one thing about Q; he occasionally manages to impress me." They were interrupted by the door chime. "Come," Riker said impatiently. Whoever it was, it had better be damned important...

It was Worf. The security chief's expression had, if possible, become even more forbidding. He spared not a glance for Vash or her holographic map as he strode up to the captain's desk. "Sir, we have another missing crewmember," he reported stiffly.

Riker took a deep, calming breath, then let it out again. Slowly. This was just what he _didn't_ want to hear. "Who?"

"Dr. Crusher," came the grim reply. "She did not report for duty this morning or respond to the emergency alert. Dr. Selar investigated and discovered Dr. Crusher's communicator just outside her quarters. According to the computer," he continued with an expressive curl of the lip that demonstrated his absolute frustration with the situation more clearly than any amount of shouting or growling, "she has been 'standing outside her quarters' since 2230 hours last night. She is the only other person missing," he added, his smoldering eyes reflecting the tension in his voice. "When Dr. Selar made her report, I instructed the computer to check our current complement versus our complement at the start of this mission, minus any routine crew rotation or emergency leaves. Everyone else is present or accounted for."

"No one missed her until this morning?" Riker asked, more to clarify the issue than anything else. "No one noticed her communicator on the deck?"

Worf shook his head in self-disgust; any lapse in security reflected poorly on him, at least in his own eyes. "No sir. She apparently disappeared after retiring for the night, at a time the computer shows the lowest traffic level in that corridor. Everyone who passed that way has denied seeing the communicator. But," he was forced to add, "it was just inside the frame of the door, wedged in a corner. Easily missed."

"As easily missed as the doctor," Riker muttered in pure frustration, then visibly took hold of himself before turning to face Vash. "Well, now we're missing two people. Any suggestions as to what Q might have done with them? Do you think they're together?"

Vash was as staggered by Worf's information as Riker, although she tried not to show it. While the security chief was making his report, she had enough time to compose her features and think rapidly on the implications. She merely shrugged at Riker's question and focused her eyes firmly on the map. When Q had announced that he wanted to prove something to Jean-Luc, he hadn't said a word about anyone else being involved. The fact that Beverly Crusher was part of Q's plans made all the pieces fall into place. Q and that damned diary; she was beginning to wish she'd never allowed him to tempt her into reading it those all-too-brief weeks ago. The entries and her reactions to them--including her irritable request that Q return the damned book before Jean-Luc realized it was missing--had prompted this latest experiment of her travelling companion; she _knew_ it. Not that she would dare tell Riker that; if she did, she'd have to reveal how she knew what she knew, and that would not sit well with Picard's right-hand man. Nor with Picard himself, should he ever find out.

Besides, that information could have no possible bearing on their search; Q wanted them found, he'd made that very clear. It was only a matter of time before they succeeded.

Vash returned her attention to Riker and Worf, still waiting impatiently for some kind of a response. "They probably are together," she replied slowly. "Somewhere reasonably near, but not too near. This isn't a heavily populated sector; that gives him a lot of choices."

"Any suggestions as to where?" Riker prodded. She was hiding something, he could tell, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. Not yet, anyway. Maybe if he got Deanna to help...

Vash shook her head and looked at him innocently. "Not really, Commander. You know how Q likes to play his little games. It might help if you think of this as a sort of cosmic version of 'hide and seek.'"

"Yes, well some of his 'little games' have almost gotten us killed in the past, in case you've forgotten," Riker retorted. Worf's lip lifted in another silent, angry snarl as he gave a curt nod of agreement. The first officer visibly took hold of himself once again. "However, I'm willing to take your advice on this matter. You've probably gotten to know Q much better than any of us." He looked at Worf. "Assemble the senior staff in the main briefing room in one hour." Worf nodded and headed for the doors as Riker glanced back at Vash. "And arrange quarters for our guest, Mr. Worf. She may be with us for a while." Another curt nod, and the security chief was gone.

Vash returned her attention to the map. Riker didn't quite believe her, that much was obvious, and Worf looked ready to strangle the information out of her. Not that she could blame them. They were even more in the dark than she was, which was saying a lot, since she knew absolutely nothing about Q's exact plans. When that aggravating alien showed back up, she was really going to give him what-for! If he thought she'd been pissed off the first time he messed around in her life, he was in for a rude awakening.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind asked if she was upset because he was manipulating her, or because Q's mysterious plans for Jean-Luc Picard included a certain red-headed doctor. She squelched the voice mercilessly, concentrating instead on what she knew about this sector.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a single, jealous thought.

"I'm sorry, Will. I can't get any reading from her at all," Troi reported a few weary hours later. She and Riker were the last two people in the briefing room. Worf had, reluctantly, escorted Vash to her quarters while Geordi and Data headed for Engineering and Dr. Selar, acting CMO, went to coordinate emergency procedures with her staff. Just in case.

"Q?" Riker asked tightly. He was beginning to hate the alien as much as Captain Picard did.

Troi shrugged and half-nodded. "I believe so. I could read her when she was on the ship before, although she is very adept at hiding things. But this is something entirely different; it's almost as if she weren't even here." She paused, then blew a quiet sigh of frustration, reaching up to massage her temples with a slight frown. "It has to be Q."

"So we don't really have any way of knowing if she's as innocent as she claims to be," Riker mused, staring out of the window at the deceptively serene view of space.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that; Vash really doesn't know what I'm up to," came an infuriatingly familiar voice from behind the two _Enterprise_ crewmembers. Riker and Troi whirled to face the invader at the same time, the first officer taking a threatening step forward before consciously stopping himself.

"Q!" Riker clenched his fist angrily as he briefly entertained a picture of himself vaulting across the briefing table and throttling the location of their missing officers' whereabouts from the alien. He dismissed the thought before it was half-formed; threatening Q was nothing but an exercise in futility. "What have you done with Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher?" he demanded instead.

"Oh, come now, Commander. Do you really expect me to answer that?" Q countered scornfully. "That would take all the challenge out of it. That _is_ why you went into space, isn't it? For the challenge? Well, I'm challenging you to find your precious captain and his doctor before anyone--or anything--else does." His mocking eyes focused on Troi. "By the way, you may as well stop trying to read Vash," he said casually. The empath backed up a step involuntarily as Q's eyes bored into hers. "It won't work; all you're going to do is...give yourself a headache." He vanished. At the same instant, Troi gave a loud moan and crumpled into a heap on the carpet, clutching her head in agony. "Good luck, Commander; you'll need it," Q's voice echoed tauntingly through the briefing room as Riker raced to the counselor's side.

The first officer glared impotently at the space the alien had just occupied, then reached gently for Troi's shoulders. Q was toying with them, daring them to figure out his game. And reminding them of his powers as well, judging by the maliciousness of his final act before vanishing. Apparently he'd given Deanna the headache of a lifetime.

"Deanna," Riker said, turning her gently to face him. "Are you all right?"

His only response was another anguished moan. Riker wasted no more time as he saw her tightly clenched eyes and the tormented expression on her face. He lifted her fully into his arms and rose to his feet. Hopefully someone in Sickbay would be able to do something for her. Then he would speak to Vash once again. This was going to end as quickly as possible.


	5. Needling the Haystack

**Elsewhere**

Dr. Beverly Crusher was lost.

Of course, she mused tiredly as she regarded her unchanging surroundings, technically she'd been lost from the moment she arrived. She'd been utterly, spectacularly lost from the minute she stepped out of her quarters and into this impossible, night-darkened forest, somehow dropping or being divested of her communicator in the process. Her quarters and the deck of the _Enterprise_ had vanished from sight before she was even able to whirl around to look for them; all she faced was more of the same--dark trees, glimpses of a starry sky, and two moons that let her know that, no matter where she was, it certainly wasn't Kansas. Or anywhere else on Earth, for that matter. Not that she'd expected it to be, but it was just as likely a possibility as any other place in the galaxy.

The problem was, if she didn't know where she was, it was likely that no one else knew where she was, either. Not a very comforting thought.

The doctor shook her head, determined not to dwell on the impossibility of her situation. On the multitude of impossibilities of her situation. Barring the just as unlikely possibility that this was some sort of experimental holo-program (_Set up right outside her quarters? In the corridor?_), she was on a strange planet.

Right now, she needed to concentrate on the basics. She needed to ignore the fact that her survival training had never prepared her for being so utterly alone and helpless in an unknown environment, without so much as a communicator to offer hope of contact or a phaser to protect herself or a tricorder to tell her what was edible and what would kill her instantly, to warn her of the approach of possibly harmful life forms or alert her to the presence of a rescue team. She needed to keep her head, not let panic take control.

A twig cracked, somewhere to her left; in her disoriented state and in the dark, she found it impossible to judge the distance. She jumped nervously to her feet, body tensed, listening with all her senses. There, another small noise, this time distinctly closer. She looked around, wishing she had the means to make a fire in spite of the humid warmth of the evening, then looked up at the tree she was currently sitting beneath. It was certainly tall enough; now, if only the local predators would remain ground creatures, and not turn out to be climbers...

As Crusher hauled herself up the tree, she had the uneasy feeling that, no matter what this particular planet's period of rotation, it was going to be a long night.

**oOo**

Jean-Luc Picard looked around in confused anger. He was no longer on the bridge of the _Enterprise_; he was no longer on the ship at all, if appearances were to be trusted. Instead, he found himself standing alone in the middle of a forest, surrounded by trees that closely resembled Earth pines but whose needles held a purplish tint not unlike the leaves of a Norway Maple.

"Well, Captain," a familiar voice rang out mockingly, putting a momentary end to Picard's observations, "I've heard that you are a very private man." Q appeared suddenly before the captain, dressed with his usual attention to unnecessary detail in a Paul Bunyonesque outfit that consisted of a red-and-black plaid jacket over a red undershirt, dirty-looking gray flannel trousers, sturdy tan work boots, and a knitted cap artistically arranged on top of his thinning brown hair. "Now you have an entire world almost to yourself. That's about as private as it gets." He gestured at the surrounding trees expansively, as if offering a rare and valuable gift.

"Q." Picard's voice was tight with disapproval. "What do you want from me this time?" He was not at all pleased to find himself somewhere of Q's arbitrary choosing. Again.

"I?" Q asked, feigning surprise. "I want nothing but the best for you, Picard." A book appeared in his hand--one that was very familiar to the captain. "I'm just trying to lend a hand."

"What are you doing with that?" Picard growled angrily, taking a threatening step forward.

"Oh come now, Picard," Q replied mockingly. The book vanished. "What do you think? I must say it makes fascinating reading. I feel as if I know you much better, now." He frowned. "Although I'm not particularly flattered by your description of me as a 'petulant, spoiled child.' Not flattered at all; it's rather like being compared to the Squire of Gothos. What a bore that brat was," he added reflectively. "Until we assimilated his family into the Continuum, of course."

Picard had no interest in the identity of the Squire of Gothos; his only response to Q's words was another angry growl. The alien raised an eyebrow. "Really, Picard, if I wanted this level of conversation, I would have brought your Mr. Worf here. But," he added lightly, "I've chosen a different companion for you."

Picard raised his head alertly at that statement. "You've brought someone else here? Who?"

Q smiled beatifically. "That's for me to know and you to find out. And I mean that quite literally." He glanced around the clearing. "Somewhere in this very forest is a damsel in distress. One," he added drily, "that I trust will play her part a little more conventionally than Vash did."

"Who else have you brought here? If it's not Vash, then where is she?" Picard demanded, distracted briefly by the thought of Q's current traveling companion. "If you've allowed some harm to come to her--"

"Not at all," Q replied, waving a negligent arm. "Vash is currently on the _Enterprise_, no doubt helping your Commander Riker try to locate the lost lambs. Not that she has the faintest idea as to where you are, mind you, but I'm sure between the two of them and your oh-so-capable crew they'll be able to figure it out. As for the identity of my other 'guest,'" the alien continued, "like I said; that's for me to know and you to find out. I'd suggest you do so as quickly as possible, mon Capitane." He began to fade from view. "This planet may be a Garden of Eden, but it still has a few snakes." With those final, chilling words, he vanished completely.

**oOo**

Crusher awoke with a start. She felt a momentary sense of disorientation as her tired mind tried to figure out why she was sleeping in a tree, but memory returned in a flash as she came more fully awake. She was on an unknown planet for an unknown purpose, and had apparently spent the entire night there. Wonderful.

She'd wedged herself between two sturdy branches, facing the trunk of the alien tree in which she'd taken shelter. An errant wind stirred the broad, cup-like leaves surrounding her, and the bright sunlight had briefly penetrated the thick, luxuriant foliage, to stab at her eyes and startle her awake to face the unpleasant reality of her situation. Doubly wonderful.

With a groan at the prospect of hauling her aching body back down the tree, Crusher pulled herself over to hang by the arms. Her foot reached hesitantly for the lower branch she'd used the night before, and she gritted her teeth as she began her descent. "You did this in the dark, Crusher," she reminded herself. "Just don't look down and you won't get dizzy."

She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally jumped to the ground, grimacing as she looked at herself. Her blue sweater, tough synthetic or not, had not been designed to handle this kind of abuse. Nor, she noted as her rueful gaze traveled to her feet, had her soft boots. If she had to do any amount of walking, she'd have blisters very quickly.

But she did need to walk; there was no way she could remain here. There was no water, for one thing, and if the early-morning heat was any indication of the climate, water was what she'd be needing, and soon. If a rescue party had been nearby, they would have located her by now, and survival was her top priority. She would have to depend on Captain Picard and the rest of the crew to find her. Staying alive until they did so was her half of the job. Somehow, she doubted that she'd be lucky enough to stumble across someone who could help her, and she especially doubted that she'd find civilization of any kind. It wasn't Q's style, and this whole escapade had "Q" written all over it; she'd eat her tricorder if he wasn't responsible. Who else would take her off the ship and just dump her in the middle of a densely overgrown forest? And to what purpose? To see if she could successfully navigate the jungle-like growth surrounding her? It was a daunting task, she admitted, glancing up at the thickly intertwined branches of the alien trees.

If it weren't for the nearly constant breeze stirring those branches, she wouldn't be able to catch more than an occasional glimpse of the greenish sky, or this planet's golden ball of a sun. If worse came to worst, she could always climb another tree and check her position, to make sure she was at least keeping to whatever arbitrary course she picked.

Which was something she'd need to decide soon. Everything looked the same, but the ground did seem to have a slight incline to the north. She shrugged. It was as good a direction as any. She took a step, then hesitated and looked around. A few minutes later, she'd managed to scrounge a small pile of stones to point her direction. Better safe than sorry, as her mother used to say.

She began walking.

**oOo**

Picard continued to stand in the same spot for several minutes after Q vanished, considering the implications of everything the alien had told him. Then he studied his surroundings, taking in the details more carefully now. The question of Q's motivations would have to wait.

A more careful look at his surroundings led him to the conclusion that it was early morning, giving Picard the distinct impression that Q had placed him on a planet whose rotation at least simulated the earth-normal schedule of the _Enterprise_. "How thoughtful," he murmured sardonically as he turned in a full circle.

The purple pines weren't the only form of plant life; just beyond this grove he caught a glimpse of the tops of other trees, a more conventional green and with what looked like leaves instead of needles adorning their branches. Further in the distance, to his left, was a hazy range of mountains, with this planet's sun just peeping over the tops of the highest peaks and brightening the cloudless, green-tinted sky. The ground was covered with dead pine needles; he would have to make his way out of this grove if he wanted to find food. Coniferous forests were notoriously barren of edible plant or animal life, and the sticky heat let him know that water would have to be a priority--especially if this planet was as uninhabited as Q described.

With an exclamation of annoyance at himself for not thinking of it sooner, Picard touched his communicator. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_; can anyone hear me?" he asked at random. If whoever was stranded with him were a member of his crew, he was bound to have a communicator.

Then again, maybe not. There was no response. He tried again a few minutes later as he followed a downhill path to the east, in the direction of the mountains. The communicator remained stubbornly silent, and he finally gave up as he left the pine grove and entered the cool depths of a deciduous forest filled with occasional bird song and the chattering of the local tree dwellers. He watched the small, squirrel-like animals as they hurried from tree to tree, busily attending to unknown tasks. Some of them paused to stare inquisitively at the strange, two-legged being that had invaded their territory, then seemed to decide he was no threat and ignored him.

The idyllic surroundings and soothing noises did nothing to soothe him, however. The longer he walked, the more annoyed he became. His mind filled with images of what he would do to Q, were the alien before him right now. And if Q were somehow human once again, as had happened the one time... Picard found such thoughts an entertaining way to pass the time as he strode through the forest.


	6. Lake Effect

**oOo**

Crusher hesitated as she neared the edge of a sparkling blue lake. It stretched as far as the eye could see, seeming to continue to the foot of the mountains she saw to the northeast. At least, she assumed it stretched that far, since she couldn't actually see the opposite shore. It almost looked to her untrained eyes like an inland sea, but she wasn't sure; she knew there were certain indications that Ship's Geologist Lt. Michalkiewicz could rattle off to her without pausing for thought or breath, but since Eric wasn't here, she could hardly ask him. At any rate, the sparkling water looked extremely inviting, especially after spending the better part of a day following the meandering path of what looked like a deer path--although she'd seen no sign of anything larger than the small tree-dwellers she'd dubbed "squirrels" busily scrambling around.

All of which had nothing to do with the fact that she still had no idea if she could drink the water. It was vexing. "What I wouldn't give for a tricorder about now," she muttered to herself, then shrugged and moved forward a few more steps. She didn't really have much of a choice in the matter, and most Class M planets were fairly safe for humanoid life, at least when it came to drinking water. Especially unspoiled Edens like this place. Unless, of course, this happened to be an inland salt-water sea. Only one way to find out. With another small shrug, she leaned down, scooped up a handful of water and brought it to her lips for a cautious taste.

The water was most definitely not salty. It was marvelous, clear and cool and far better than anything she'd ever tasted before. Nevertheless, she waited a few minutes before allowing herself to swallow a more substantial mouthful. When that seemed to cause no ill effects, she drank her fill, then settled in to wait on the edge of the lake and contemplate its unearthly beauty for a few hours. She needed to rest, to regain her strength, and to let the water work its way through her system before doing anything else. Besides, this was the logical place to wait for a search party--she must have been missed by now. Even if this planet's rotation didn't exactly match that of the _Enterprise_, it seemed to be fairly close. She estimated that she'd been marooned for at least 12 hours, and just hoped the ship was nearby. Or she'd be testing a lot more things than the local water.

**oOo **

Picard looked around hopefully. His southward journey had brought him to the edge of a large lake, bordered by a small mountain range to the west. Whoever was stranded here with him was bound to make for the body of water just as he had--that is, if he was even in this part of the world. Q could just as easily have deposited his two pawns on opposite ends of the planet, but Picard was inclined to take the alien at his word when he said they were in the same forest. He displayed a sort of impatience at times that was more human than he'd be willing to admit. Having two people searching for each other on opposite ends of the planet might be amusing, but it would be more amusing to deposit them closer together; after all, this glorified game of hide-and-go-seek couldn't possibly be the alien's true motive for kidnapping the captain of the _Enterprise_ and his as-yet unknown companion.

No, Q played a deeper game than that; he always did. Picard resolutely kept his mind from wondering what out of his personal journal had prompted the alien to this action; although he could think of one or two items that might have attracted Q's interest, he wasn't ready to explore the possibilities. Nor was this necessarily the right time to do so; he had to concentrate on locating his counterpart as quickly as possible, especially if Q's vague threat of dangerous life-forms was legitimate.

Nodding firmly at this decision, Picard scanned the shoreline, hoping for some sign of habitation or intelligence. There was nothing except the pristine wilderness, the curious chirping of the birds, the chittering and industrious scrambling of the "squirrels."

Nothing. Not even a puff of smoke or an arrow made of stones to point him in the right direction. With a sigh, Picard made his way to the sandy shore. Hesitating only briefly, he reached down and drew up a handful of the sparkling water. Drinking it quickly, he rose to his feet, feeling more refreshed by that simple handful than he had from a full tumbler of the recycled, replicated stuff he drank every day on the _Enterprise_. At least Q had seen fit to deposit his unwilling guests on a planet with a congenial environment.

Turning to his right, Picard spied what looked like a deer path. That was promising; with any luck, it would lead around the lake and keep him from having to fight his way through more of the dense undergrowth, which had increased the farther he traveled from the pine grove until it was positively unpassable in spots. He began walking briskly down the path.


	7. Welcome Counsel

**The _Enterprise_**

"First Officer's Log, supplemental. Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard have been missing for more than a week now. We believe the captain still has his communicator; between that and Vash's assurances that there are no humanoid settlements in this sector, we feel confident of our ability to locate them, once we enter the correct system. The trouble is figuring out which system that is, before we can even think about figuring out what planet they're on!"

Riker paused, running his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture that reflected the frustration in his voice. He took a sip of his bourbon--the real thing, not just synthohol--to try and calm himself a bit, then resumed pacing around his quarters as he finished updating his log. "Geordi and his crew have the _Far Traveller_ in running order once again, and Captain Crosby is assisting us in our search. Even with her help, I have a feeling this could take quite a while." Another pause, another sip of bourbon. "We've already alerted Wesley Crusher and Captain Picard's family to the situation, as well as Starfleet Command." Difficult though that had been, he'd informed Picard's brother and Crusher's son himself. It was his responsibility, and no one had argued with him. "The families are understandably upset, and it was only with great difficulty that I was able to convince Wesley not to take an immediate leave of absence from Starfleet Academy to assist in the search. However, the longer it takes, the more difficult it will be to keep him from taking such an action."

Riker continued his restless pacing, holding the whiskey glass absently in one hand. "We've been given permission to continue the search for our missing people for as long as it takes--which means, of course, until some emergency requires our immediate presence elsewhere." He drew a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his cynicism. Before he could continue his moody monologue, the door chimed discreetly. Riker glanced over in surprise, wondering who it could be; it was after midnight, ship's time. Apparently someone else was having a hard time sleeping. Or perhaps they'd finally had some luck... Only one way to find out. "Come in."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

It was Deanna Troi. Riker gaped in pleased surprise, then smiled broadly and ushered the counselor in, bringing her solicitously to a chair. "Can I get you anything? A pillow?" It was the first time he'd seen her conscious since her Q-imposed headache at the beginning of the week; Dr. Selar had been forced to resort to sedation when it became obvious that the pain wasn't going to respond to conventional treatment. Riker had made a habit of stopping by Sickbay every night before going to bed, just to check on her; she'd appeared to be still under the influence of the sedative, sleeping peacefully, when he'd visited her bedside earlier in the evening. Her rapid recovery seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Troi rolled her eyes and gestured for him to sit as well. "Please, Will, you of all people should know I'm not a china doll," she said reprovingly. "I just stopped in to see how you were doing on my way back to my quarters." A lie, but a minor one. She knew very well how he was doing, especially since it was his distress and frustration that had served to break through the sedative as the pain finally vanished--probably due more to Q's personal whim than to anything else, in Troi's private opinion--and had drawn her to his quarters like a magnet. She could no more ignore Will's intense emotions than she could her own. Not that she was about to tell him that; nor was she about to tell him that Dr. Selar had given her strict orders to do nothing but rest for a few more days--just in case. There was too much for her to do right now; the captain's disappearance had disturbed more of the crew than just Will Riker. It was too similar to the time he'd been kidnapped by the Borg and transformed into one of their own.

"You're the one who just got out of Sickbay," Riker countered as he moved to sit in the opposite chair and lifted his glass. "Would you care for some authentic Kentucky bourbon?"

Troi shook her head firmly. "No thank you. I may not be a china doll, but I did just get over one headache. I'm not ready to face the thought of another one." She reached out and touched his arm gently as he winced, mentally and physically. "That wasn't meant as a reprimand," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Honestly, I just stopped by to see how you were doing." She allowed a guilty smile to form on her lips. "And, I confess, to find out how things are going. I feel a little out of touch and was hoping you could update me on the situation."

Riker blew a noisy sigh and settled back on the seat, gazing moodily at his drink before downing the remainder in a single gulp. "We're completely in the dark," he admitted after placing the glass on the coffee table. "Vash still thinks Q put them someplace uninhabited, probably someplace he hasn't taken her, either. It's all we have to go on right now." When pressed for an explanation of her reasoning, Vash had merely shrugged and said, "It's not logical, but then, neither is Q. I think he'd pick a planet no one knows anything about, even me. I think he'd find it...amusing." Riker had been forced to agree.

Troi nodded her own agreement to that assessment. "We're on our way to one of those systems now?" she asked, to confirm the scant information Dr. Selar had been able--or willing--to give her.

Riker nodded. "Captain Crosby is searching the closer sectors, the ones we already know something about, just in case Q is playing a deeper game."

"Like the purloined letter?" Troi guessed, remembering one of her father's favorite short stories. "Hiding them in plain sight?"

"Exactly," Riker agreed. "Trying to outguess Q is an exercise in futility, as we already know, but all we have to go on is Vash's theory and our own experiences with him. Which isn't an awful lot." He sighed again, hunching his shoulders and leaning over to rest his arms on his legs in a gesture of defeat. "I just feel as if I should be doing something more."

"You're doing everything you can, Will," Troi replied earnestly, leaning forward and touching his hand gently with her own. "You've taken every possible action ." She shrugged. "All we can do now is wait until we arrive at our first target. Which I know is difficult for you," she added with a gentle smile, "but not impossible."

Riker nodded, allowing a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips. "You always know how to help me put things in perspective," he murmured, catching her gaze with his own.

Troi felt herself blushing slightly at the naked need in his eyes. As always when they were alone together, she could feel the intensity of the emotions Will normally kept firmly in check. He was particularly vulnerable tonight, as was she, and his half-formed longing was beginning to make her uncomfortably aware of her own uncertainty. Time to break the spell.

She pulled her gaze away and rose to her feet. "I'd better get back to my quarters." A note of wistful regret tinged her words in spite of her intentions otherwise. Will was making it very difficult for her to remember her logical, sensible reasons for not resuming their former relationship while serving on the same ship, just by looking at her in that particular way.

"Do you have to leave so soon?" he asked softly, then rose to his own feet and shook his head. "Of course you do," he answered himself, his voice brisk with suppressed regret as he took her arm and walked her to the door. "I'm sure Dr. Selar told you to rest, not to come here and counsel the acting captain." His eyes met hers once again, this time with a twinkle of amusement showing through. "Didn't she."

Troi shrugged guiltily. "I think you know me a little too well," was her only response. "Good night, Acting Captain Riker." Then she was gone.

**oOo**

Riker and Troi weren't the only ones having a sleepless night. Two decks below, the lights were on in the comfortable guest quarters that had been set aside for the angrily pacing form of Q's current travelling companion.

At least, she assumed she was still his current traveling companion. For all she knew, this was Q's way of letting her know that she was now his _former_ traveling companion. Leaving her on the _Enterprise_ might just be his idea of a subtle way of telling her he was ready to move on. Without her.

It was an annoying thought, and one Vash couldn't get out of her head. Not that she was all that enamored of Q on a personal level, but the fact that he could just dump her like this, with no warning or explanation, irked her in a way she never would have predicted.

To make it worse, all of this irritation was founded on baseless speculation, not on any kind of facts. But then, Q was hardly around to contradict her conclusions, now was he? No. As far as she knew, he hadn't made another appearance on the ship since he'd taunted Riker and given Deanna Troi that walloping headache.

The headache was another source of irritation. It smacked of casual, needless cruelty. Not that she had any illusions about Q's rather arbitrary moral code, at least as far as "inferior beings" were concerned, but she also knew that he never did anything without a reason. What exactly his purpose in creating the headache was, she couldn't quite tell--to keep the empath from helping in the search for the missing people?--but she had no doubts as to his reasons for removing the captain and the doctor from the ship.

She reached the far wall, spun on her heel and turned back the other way. The speed of her pacing increased furiously, but she never noticed, too busy with her thoughts. Oh yes, she knew _exactly_ why Q had chosen that particular couple to deposit on some unspoiled wilderness of a planet. He delighted in making Picard do things he didn't want to do--or things that he didn't want to _admit_ that he wanted to do. He was probably sitting somewhere out there right now, watching everything and laughing to himself. Or sitting somewhere nearby, invisibly observing her reactions to the situation.

Vash paused in her restless pacing to glance up at the roof of her cabin, then shook her head ruefully. Even if Q _was_ watching her, she'd never know it. Not unless he wanted her to. And it was extremely obvious that he didn't want anyone to know where he was or what he was doing right now. Especially her.

"Q, you're nothing but a colossal pain in the neck," she announced to the room at large, then sighed and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower would help her relax, and then bed. Some sleep would do her good. She'd leave the worrying about Q--and his dubious intentions--for the morning.


	8. Why Did It Have To Be Snakes!

**Elsewhere**

Crusher settled in near the shore of the lake, using her rusty woodsman survival skills and memories of summers at her cousin's camp in the Adirondacks to build a makeshift sleeping platform in the branches of a tree near the path she'd originally taken. Close, but not too close; after almost a week, she still hadn't seen anything large enough to make such a path, and there was always the chance that the creatures might not turn out to be the innocuous herbivores her imagination had originally conjured up.

In the middle of her sixth night, she was awakened out of an uneasy sleep by the sound of something large moving along the ground beneath her. She inched her way to the edge of her platform as silently as possible, laying flat as she cautiously peeked over the edge.

It took her eyes a moment to realize what they were seeing; in the uncertain light of the twin moons, it looked as if water were flowing along the path. She stared at the undulating mass uncomprehendingly for a moment, then it suddenly snapped into focus as a startled gasp escaped her lips. She was looking at the body of a snake. As it continued on its silent way, a second one appeared, the same shimmery black and silver as the first, with a large, triangular head that moved in an uneasy side-to-side motion as it slithered along. The doctor barely breathed until they passed, her heart pounding in her throat. The snakes were _huge_, bigger than any she'd ever seen or even heard of. Both snakes nearly touched either side of the four-foot wide path, and she couldn't even begin to guess their lengths. More than 20 meters, more than 30 meters. Maybe even more than that. All she could tell was that they took a long time to move completely out of sight. A _very_ long time.

When they were finally gone, she continued to wait, ears straining, until she heard a pair of faint splashes from the direction of the lake. Great. The damn things were swimmers! "Why me?" Crusher mouthed, glaring accusatively skyward before scrabbling away from the edge of her platform. She backed up until she reached the trunk of the tree, then leaned against it, eyes wide. She stayed there the rest of the night, unable to return to sleep, unable to do anything except listen for other noises in the darkness.

And curse Q with every fibre of her being.

**oOo**

"How big is this damned lake?" Picard muttered. He'd been tramping around it for nearly two weeks now, following the randomly appearing and disappearing "deer paths" when he could and forcing his way through the dense underbrush the rest of the time, and still he hadn't completely circumscribed it. It must be larger than he'd estimated; much larger. Practically an inland sea. And in all that time, he hadn't seen any signs of his fellow castaway. There was always the possibility that he was completely wrong and that she--whoever she might be--was nowhere near this damned lake, but he refused to follow that line of thought; the large body of fresh, drinkable water was his best--and so far only--lead.

He paused, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he looked around. He'd come to a small hill of sorts, just a bump in the landscape, really, but high enough to give him a better view of his surroundings. Time for a bit of a rest, he decided wearily, maybe even time to call it quits for the day. The sun was beginning to set. He leaned back against the nearest tree and looked around critically.

Trees were all he could see, trees and the lake and the distant mountains. There were no other signs of life, besides the ubiquitous squirrels and occasional bird. If there was any kind of aquatic life, it kept itself well away from the shore. That was fine for now, but if Q's little "game" lasted much longer, Picard knew he would have to try his hand at making a fishing pole of some kind. The nuts and berries he'd cautiously eaten were acceptable--and, incidentally, incredibly delicious--nourishment, but he'd need something a bit more substantial if he were stranded for any length of time.

Picard flinched away from that prospect. He determinedly kept his thoughts on the here and now, on the unknown person he was trying to locate. With any luck, that reunion would be the signal for Q to end the game. Perhaps he was testing Picard's perserverence; perhaps he was merely testing his patience, in the most literal sense of that phrase. Either way, the captain of the _Enterprise_ was determined not to give in.

Right now, though, he was tired and thirsty; another attempt at puzzling out Q's motives could take second place to the primary concern of staying alive and healthy. Looking more carefully at his side of the lake, he uttered a triumphant "Ah-ha!" as he spied another of the paths, leading toward the water. At last. An easy way to collect a drink before he found a comfortable perch for the night. He pulled himself away from the tree with a tired sigh and headed for the path.

The humid weather had dictated that he remove his jacket, which he'd simply tied around his waist. The sturdy material rinsed clean with a simple dunk in the water, although he hadn't been willing to complete strip down in order to clean all of his clothing. Not yet. Even after two weeks with no large predators in sight, he was still uneasy about making himself vulnerable without someone acting as backup. Putting aside the question of personal hygiene whilst stranded on a strange world, he leaned forward, reaching down to scoop up some of the water.

"Jean-Luc, look out!" Picard froze at the sound of that unexpected--and unexpectedly familiar--voice, then stared down at the water. Something was moving, something very large. Moving rapidly and directly toward him. He barely had time to jump away from the edge of the lake before a head rose from the water, a huge, dark gray and gold head, larger than his entire body and sporting a mouth full of deadly, needle-like teeth. He continued to backpedal, had almost reached the dubious safety of the trees, when the creature suddenly lunged forward and grabbed his foot in its mouth. Picard shouted in alarm as he clutched desperately at the nearest bushes, arms straining as the huge snake began to drag him into the water.

Then, unbelievably, Beverly Crusher was there, dropping out of the trees with a screech like an avenging Valkyrie, bashing the creature on its elongated snout with what looked like a broken-off branch. She was a blur of half-seen motion, darting in and out of the thick underbrush as she hit the snake a second time, then again and again, until it finally decided it had enough and released the captain's boot. Picard moved the instant he found himself free, rolling away from the dangerously open path and into the undergrowth. He spared a moment to examine the foot the snake had nearly pulled him into the water by, noting with relief that the rows of holes in the heavy material of his boot didn't penetrate to the skin, or even all the way through the boot; the pain he was feeling was due to pressure, not punctures. Then he scrambled to his feet, looking around to make sure his CMO was safe as he assured her that he was unharmed by the attack.

She'd dropped her improvised weapon and seemed to be headed up the nearest tree at top speed, urging him to do the same. After sparing a glance to make certain the creature had actually returned to the water, the captain followed her example, limping only slightly.

"They can't climb, or at least they don't climb. They even seem to lose interest in chasing their prey once it's up a tree; in fact, I've never even seen them trying to get through the undergrowth." Crusher's voice floated out from across the path, but she remained hidden by the dense growth. Picard cautiously came to a stop several branches up, relieved to find that his instinct to sleep off the ground had been correct. Crusher was still talking: "I think it might be some sort of mating season; this is the closest to shore I've seen one of them come in a few days. Usually I can see them at night, further out in the water. In pairs."

"How long have you been here, at the lake?" Picard asked, wondering why he hadn't seen any signs of the huge snakes as he traveled the paths. Of course, he was usually safely up a tree by the time night fell, and not that close to either the paths or the lakes; it just hadn't seemed prudent. He glanced uneasily at the now-placid waters below. There was no sign of his assailant, not even a ripple on the deceptively smooth surface of the lake, and it occurred to him that he should have realized Q wasn't speaking metaphorically when he mentioned snakes. Of course, leave it to the alien not to mention the SIZE of the creatures...

"Two weeks now," the doctor was saying in reply to his question. Her voice sounded marginally closer, and Picard returned his attention to the branches around him. "I spent my first night in a tree south of here, about a day's walk away. When I spotted the lake, it seemed the logical place to wait for a rescue party." She paused hopefully. "You _are_ a rescue party, aren't you?"

"I wish I were," Picard replied apologetically. Her voice sounded closer still, and some of the branches were shaking suspiciously. He focused his gaze in that direction as he continued. "Unfortunately, we're both in the same predicament. Q." That single word was spoken in a tone that more than adequately conveyed his emotions.

"I had a feeling he was involved." With those words, Crusher's face and arm appeared almost directly overhead as she leaned down to grasp Picard's outstretched hand in her own. "One minute I was in my quarters, the next I was in the middle of this forest. Without my communicator." She helped haul him up to her level.

Picard got his first good look at the doctor, and his fingers tightened on hers in sheer surprise. Crusher stared back at him in confusion, then automatically followed his gaze to a point just below her neck.

She'd completely forgotten what she was wearing--or rather, what she _wasn't_ wearing. All she had on--all she'd got in the habit of wearing during the hottest hours of the day--was her Starfleet-issue underclothing. Which consisted of a body-hugging pair of briefs and a bra.

She felt a blush forming as her gaze returned to Picard's equally red face. "Too hot for the sweater and pants I had on when I ended up here," she offered, clearing her throat uncomfortably. "I didn't want to risk the chance of heatstroke. And the longer it took a rescue party to show up..." She shrugged.

Picard nodded wordlessly. His eyes had flown up to her face the moment he realized he'd been staring at her as if he'd never seen a woman's body before, and he found himself utterly at a loss for words.

Crusher turned and reached for a connecting branch from the closest tree, cheeks still burning. "I have a sort of tree-house," she called over her shoulder, keeping her eyes resolutely away from his. "We can talk there."

Picard mumbled his acknowledgment, too flustered and embarrassed by his clumsy reaction to offer a more graceful response.

A few minutes later, Picard joined the doctor on the sturdy platform, sparing a moment to look her improvised shelter over approvingly. Branches had been intertwined overhead to form a crude shelter over half of the even more carefully woven flooring, and a pile of leafy branches formed what was obviously a bed against the central trunk. "Why do I feel as if I've stumbled into an old Tarzan vid?" he asked, forcing a smile as he turned to face his CMO.

In the time it had taken him to follow her up the complex web of branches that formed her path to the tree, Crusher had managed to throw her pants on, if not her heavy sweater. Picard felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment, wondering briefly if it was for her own benefit or his that she had covered herself, then chased the thoughts and feelings away irritably. Now was not the time for such nonsense.

Crusher rolled her eyes and shook her head in mock exasperation at his comment, but he didn't miss the relief in her eyes at his tacit agreement to drop the subject of her attire and focus on the business at hand. "If that same thought hadn't crossed my mind while I was working on this thing, I'd probably take that comment a lot less gracefully," she stated, an answering smile briefly appearing on her lips. "Fortunately, I spent an awful lot of time building tree-houses with my cousins. When I was pretty young," she added hastily.

"Somehow I didn't think that was how you spent your last few shore leaves," Picard returned lightly, before lowering himself to a sitting position near the edge of the platform. Time and past to get down to business. The doctor followed suit as the captain explained, quickly and succinctly, what had happened to him. Crusher then gave her version, and the two of them fell silent as they contemplated their situation.

"Well, the simple accomplishment of finding each other obviously wasn't the motive for this latest little 'test' of Q," Crusher finally offered, glancing around at their leafy surroundings. Her expression clearly showed her dissatisfaction with the fact that the trees hadn't immediately transformed into the walls of the ship. "We're still here."

Picard nodded grimly. "So we are." Their eyes met. "Any suggestions as to how we might rectify this situation would be most welcome, Beverly. I confess that I have no idea what Q's requirements could be, either. He was extremely vague on the subject."

He was lying. Once he'd seen that Beverly Crusher was his companion on this little woodland adventure, he knew exactly what entries from his journal had piqued Q's interest. But he wasn't about to tell the doctor that; for one thing, he didn't want to be rushed into any hasty moves, and for another, he absolutely refused to play Q's game. Vash had refused to play the alien's game once, and the results had been favorable. He devoutly hoped that it would work that way now. With any luck, there would be no need to tell Beverly about the sense of vague dissatisfaction he felt regarding their current, ambiguous relationship. A dissatisfaction that he hadn't really paid attention to, not until a few weeks ago, when he was re-reading the very journal that had landed them in their current predicament. The entries that gave the clues were fairly far apart, which was why he hadn't noticed as he wrote them.

But he'd certainly noticed them upon rereading, and he most definitely noticed them now. And Q had noticed them as well. Not a pleasant thought, that this was all his own fault, but then, it was hardly sporting of Q to read the captain's private journal and act upon that information with his usual callous disregard for the feelings of others. Beverly would be absolutely mortified if she ever found out the truth. Especially if she ever discovered that Picard had been in love with her when she was still married to Jack Crusher. No, that would definitely not be good, Picard thought with an interior shudder.

"I think we both know that it would be impossible to try and out-think Q," Picard said cautiously, relaxing slightly as she nodded her agreement. "If we simply concentrate on surviving until Commander Riker and the _Enterprise_ arrive, we should be fine. Who knows; if we ignore Q, he may get bored." A futile hope, perhaps, but one Picard found himself clinging to devoutly.

Crusher gave another nod of agreement, although he thought he saw a speculative gleam appear and disappear from the doctor's blue eyes almost too quickly to see. Was his desire not to delve too deeply into Q's motives that obvious? Picard shrugged mentally. He would just have to watch himself, that was all. If he betrayed his feelings for the doctor--past or present--Q would just laugh all the harder. The captain of the _Enterprise_ knew, with absolute conviction, that such a betrayal wouldn't do a single thing to get them free of this situation.

_Author's Note: I TOLD you I owned the snakes! And Ship's Geologist Eric Michalkiewicz from the last chapter. Believe it or not, that's my brother's real name._


	9. Moments of Frustration

**oOo**

A week later, Picard found himself reevaluating the validity of his theory. Surely the _Enterprise_ should have located them by now! Unless, of course, they were further away than Q had implied. And unless he _wasn't_ planning on the two of them being rescued.

With that sobering thought in mind, Picard had, with Crusher's assistance, constructed a sleeping platform similar to her own, on the branches of a tree next to hers, one whose branches were so entangled with those of her own tree that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. If he felt a twinge of disappointment at her willingness to separate their sleeping areas, he repressed it sternly. Certainly she showed no such disappointment. Which only served to confirm the captain's suspicions; if Beverly Crusher were to discover the reason behind Q's meddling this time, she would be extremely embarrassed. The only purpose it could possibly serve would be to make the two of them highly self-conscious around one another, uncomfortable even with the careful friendship they'd built up over the past several years--a friendship that Picard told himself he valued too much to spoil by admitting that his feelings, which had mellowed over the years spent apart from the doctor and then the years spent serving together on the _Enterprise_, had once again begun to deepen into something more. However, it wasn't just his feelings that he had to consider, and Beverly had never truly indicated to him that she felt anything more for him. Once or twice he thought he'd seen something in her eyes, something more, only to dismiss it as nothing more than wishful thinking.

In short, everything they had together would be ruined, and that was probably exactly what Q was hoping would happen. "Shrill," he'd called the doctor, even going so far as to change her into a noisily yapping Irish Setter. It was quite obvious that the alien regarded her with personal distaste, and Picard wouldn't be at all surprised if Q was hoping to permanently damage their relationship.

Well, he wouldn't allow that to happen. He refused to be pushed into doing anything, no matter what the reasons behind the pushing. He especially refused to do what Q wanted him to do, no matter what that might or might not be. Nodding firmly to himself, Picard returned to putting the finishing touches on the half-roof of his tree-house.

**Interlude**

Q frowned petulantly. Not good. Not good at all. His two pawns were not reacting in the way he wanted them to. Time to add a new piece to the game. A bishop, perhaps, to give a testimonial...he reached up and plucked a small, leather-bound volume from mid-air, hefted it consideringly, then nodded. The book vanished before he finished his gesture, and the smile that spread across Q's face did not bode well for the author of those words.

**The _Enterprise_**

"I can't believe it," Riker muttered, shaking his head in discouragement. "I can't believe it's been six weeks." He was standing in front of the bank of windows in the main briefing room, staring out at space. It was a pose Deanna Troi had seen him in far too often lately, an unconscious reflection of his urgent desire to find the captain and Dr. Crusher. He spent more time looking at space, she thought uneasily, than he did at people. Not his usual pattern at all, even in a crisis situation. Especially in a crisis situation. She traded concerned looks with Vash and Lori Crosby, who might not know Will Riker as well as she did, but whom she trusted to be perceptive enough to sense her concern for him--a concern that was quickly becoming as important as her concern for the captain and Dr. Crusher.

The four of them were the last people left in the observation lounge, after another fruitless brainstorming session. The meeting had been called in desperation after yet another search pattern failed to turn up the missing people. The captain's cousin was getting ready to return to her ship, but didn't seem able to bring herself to leave yet. "Six weeks isn't really that long," Lori said optimistically. "Not when you're doing something constructive."

It was the wrong thing to say. Riker's back stiffened and he turned to stare at her incredulously. "Something constructive? You call running around in circles and jumping through Q's hoops constructive?" He turned back to the window, shoulders slumping in defeat. "We may as well give it up. If Q wanted them found, we'd have done it by now."

"Will, we can't just give up," Troi interjected. "Starfleet understands; they've given us time--"

"Not enough," the acting Captain countered, not bothering to turn around. "Admiral Aimsley's already hinted that we've spent enough time on this. It won't be long before they yank us back to full-time duty and issue their condolences to the Picards and Wesley." The words were filled with bitter anger, more emotion than Riker had allowed himself to show in a long time. Too long, as far as Deanna Troi was concerned. Will Riker was a man of action, and he became extremely frustrated by situations like this, where he was unable to take any decisive action. Searching was too passive; he needed to be doing something more concrete, and that was impossible.

"Even if they do," Lori cut in, seemingly undisturbed by Riker's outburst, "you know I won't give up. I blew the only schedule I had to meet when that ion storm disabled my ship. I can keep searching till hell freezes over if I have to, and Starfleet can't do a damned thing to stop me."

"Besides," Vash added encouragingly, "Q won't let it go that far. You know him; he hates to be interrupted. If the Romulans declare war, he'll make them stop until he's played this game out to whatever conclusion he has in mind. Doesn't it seem a little peculiar that it's been so quiet lately? That the _Enterprise_ hasn't been needed for any emergencies?"

"What if this _is_ the conclusion he has in mind?" Riker returned tiredly, ignoring her final, suggestive questions. "What if he intends to leave them stranded? What if Q lied and they aren't even in this sector of the galaxy?"

None of the women present had answers; they had all asked themselves the same questions at one time or another during the course of their desperate search.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Captain Crosby spoke up again, her voice filled with determination. "I'd better get back to my ship so we can head out to the next search sector." Troi and Vash murmured good byes, but Riker merely nodded abstractedly, his eyes remaining glued to the vista of space. Lori shrugged and headed out the door, Vash following a minute later. Troi hesitated the longest, then finally turned and followed the other two women, leaving Riker alone with his thoughts.

There wasn't anything she could do to help him right now; he would have to work his frustrations out by himself.


	10. Reading Material

**Elsewhere**

Another day gone by, and still no sign of rescue. Beverly Crusher reached back tiredly to remove the blue thread--one of many that her sweater had given up over the past month and a half--that held her hair away from her face. She allowed the heavy red tresses to fall free as she splashed a leaf-bowl's worth of water onto her hot face. Then she stepped out of her pants and the remnants of her boots, wincing as a blister rubbed painfully against the frayed material. Next she removed her underclothing, rinsing the items in another, larger "bowl" of water and laying them flat; by morning, they'd be completely dry, if a little stiff. When she finished her nightly routine, she padded over to her bed and threw on her blue sweater. It was still far too hot to wear that particular item of clothing during the day, but just cool enough for it at night. Besides, it was a far less durable piece of clothing than her pants and underwear, in spite of manufacturer's claims to near indestructibility. She supposed under ordinary circumstances it would have lasted for years, but these were hardly ordinary circumstances.

Her boots and pants were also showing signs of strain; her underclothing was rapidly turning out to be more durable than anything else. Not that they were completely unaffected; being worn for 42 straight days and nights, and being washed almost as often, was bound to wear out even the toughest fiber, Starfleet-issued synthetic or not.

As of course was happening with Jean-Luc's uniform. Crusher repressed a giggle at the memory of the look of outrage he'd worn once he realized his black pants were beginning to get a bit ragged around the edges, so to speak. "You're just lucky we're not in a true tropical climate," Crusher had commented. "That kind of humidity can literally rot the clothes off your body, if they haven't been properly treated." She glanced down at herself ruefully. "Which these most definitely have not."

Picard was not amused. "This material is supposed to be able to withstand much more severe treatment than constant wear in the outdoors," he'd snapped, then stalked away at her grin, mumbling something about finishing the new latrine.

Crusher's current grin faded at the memory of the turn her thoughts had taken as she watched him walk away. Her eyes had lingered admiringly on a certain portion of his anatomy that was becoming more noticeable as the material wore away from sitting on the rough flooring of their platforms. She'd shaken her head in dismay, turning away from him as well. _I can't believe I was thinking about what a great tush he has!_ she thought as she lowered herself to her bed and carefully crawled under her makeshift blanket of loosely woven leaves. Although the nights were almost as warm as they had been when she first arrived, it became much cooler toward morning. Cool enough to require some sort of protection from the breeze that seemed to spring up in the early hours before sunrise. She lowered her head and turned to face the trunk of the tree, freezing as her hand touched a foreign object. Slowly, carefully, she moved her eyes sideways to see what it was her fingers had grazed.

It was a book.

She snatched her fingers away reflexively, then frowned, closed her eyes and shook her head, certain she was imagining things. When she opened her eyes, however, the impossible book was still there. She reached for it hesitantly, picking it up with two fingers, as if afraid it would vanish when she touched it.

It was a real book, or at least it looked and felt real. And it was open. Crusher's eyes automatically took in the fact that the page was covered with handwriting. Not any kind of printface; actual, real handwriting.

Vaguely familiar handwriting at that. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the page, stopping half-way down as a word sprang out at her.

It was her name. Intrigued, she began reading.

And found herself even more intrigued by the words surrounding her name.

**oOo**

Beverly Crusher replaced Jean-Luc Picard's personal journal on her bed, pulling her legs up to rest her arms on her knees as she stared out at the fading light of the day. Her mind drifted through memories of past encounters and near-misses with the author of the words she'd just read. The time virtually the entire ship had been affected by a judgement-inhibiting "virus," for lack of anything better to call it. Including the CMO and the Captain, who had come very close to revealing certain things to each other--things that had gone unmentioned once everyone had been returned to normal. The time Picard had been temporarily replaced with an exact duplicate, one that had teased her with overtures of intimacy, then sent her merrily on her way. She'd never spoken to the captain regarding his replacement's actions, telling herself that it was as much to spare him as herself from any embarrassment; after all, hadn't she told his double that she was comfortable with the way their current relationship was? Why make something out of nothing? she'd asked herself. It wasn't worth it, if in the end things merely went back the way they'd always been, after a brief period of discomfort between two friends.

Then there were the times she'd tried to tell him how much she valued him, how much he meant to her, only to have fate intervene at the last minute and the words go once again unsaid. The way, she admitted with a feeling of shame at her cowardice, she shied away from those feelings the minute things returned to normal, just as she had when the captain's double had left and the real captain had been returned.

Apparently, however, her feelings of vague dissatisfaction were also felt by the captain of the _Enterprise_. She thought she'd been imagining things, that Jean-Luc felt that their relationship was just fine the way it was. So much for her ability to predict other's reactions; Deanna Troi's job was certainly safe and the galaxy fortunate that she'd gone into physical medicine and not psychological.

"Another excuse shot down," Crusher murmured to herself, then stopped in the process of rising to her feet. Where had that thought come from? Her subconscious had apparently already pinpointed her problem, if thoughts like that could float to the top of her mind fully formed. Her subconscious and, of course, Deanna Troi. Crusher found herself wishing desperately that the ship's counselor were here now; she suddenly needed someone to talk to.

Someone besides Jean-Luc Picard. Her eyes strayed to the book once again, this time guiltily. She'd read the captain's private journal, a few pages anyway, and had only stopped because of the rapidly fading daylight and because it ended only a few pages past the spot it had been opened to, the last journal entry written only a few days before their kidnapping. She'd actually found herself wanting to go back and read it from the beginning, and that desire had jolted her back to reality. A journal was an intensely private thing, and the captain was an intensely private man; she'd violated that privacy, and the excuses she offered herself about it really being Q's fault for putting the book in her bed fell flat.

But it was certainly food for thought. She picked the book up, slid it under her "pillow," and laid back down. She'd decide what to do about it in the morning.

When the light of the rising sun hit Crusher's eyes, she stretched and yawned, then stiffened as she remembered her bedtime reading material. She stretched a cautious hand under her pillow, determined to return the journal to Jean-Luc.

It was gone.


	11. Raindrops Keep Fallin'

**oOo **

"Well, it's official," Picard announced.

"What is?" Crusher turned away from her newest project--an attempt at a pair of sandals--and glanced inquisitively at the captain. They were sitting near the edge of a small, isolated clearing they'd discovered near their campsite, one that gave an almost uninterrupted view of the rarely seen sky and allowed them to move around without being whipped by underbrush. Although no paths led to the clearing, it was accessible by their "tree-branch highway," which made it the safest place to come to ground. The snakes, they'd discovered, were still following the paths to the water, although sporadically, but still made no attempts to force their way through the underbrush or to create new paths. That, plus the fact that their observed speed on land was considerably less than that of their speed in the water, made this an ideal place to spend time when they needed to feel the ground beneath their feet.

"We've been here exactly eight weeks." Picard stepped away from the small tree he'd been studying. A portion of its trunk was neatly covered with small notches he'd scratched there with one of their painstakingly created stone knives. The notches indicated the length of their enforced stay on the world Picard had wryly christened "Paradise." Crusher craned her neck to peer over Picard's shoulder as she studied the notches.

"Eight weeks. Fifty-six days," she said musingly. She dropped the sandal--it wasn't turning out all that well--and gave him her full attention. "Now what?"

"A very good question, Beverly," Picard murmured. "A very good question, indeed." He glanced skyward. "I still can't believe Q's allowed things to drag on this long."

Crusher shrugged. "Maybe he hasn't got what he wants yet," she threw over her shoulder as she turned to retrieve the sandal. Perhaps there was still hope for it; after all, anything would have to be better than her rapidly disintegrating boots. She hadn't enjoyed walking around barefoot since she was a teenager. "I'm sure he doesn't intend for us to stay here until we're as rotted as our clothes." With those words, she retrieved her working materials and abruptly headed for the trees. "I think I'll go back to camp. I need something to eat."

Picard stared after her, then shook his head slightly. Beverly had been acting very mysterious for the past week or so; he occasionally caught her looking at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes, turning away without explanation when he raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn't like it; was it possible that this place was finally getting to his CMO?

It was certainly beginning to get to him. _Robinson Crusoe_ had always been one of his favorite books; now, he doubted if he'd ever pick it up again. Not that, not _Swiss Family Robinson_, not even Shakespeare's play "The Tempest." Nothing having to do with being stranded.

Q had definitely gone too far this time. It was obvious to Picard that they were nowhere near where the _Enterprise_ had been; Q had probably placed his two captives on the opposite end of the galaxy. It still seemed rather uncharacteristically drawn-out for one of his "games," but then, Picard could hardly judge the alien's behavior. Become weary of it, yes; hate it, want to change it, but never judge or even understand it.

Something wet plopped onto the captain's head. Frowning at the interruption to his thoughts, Picard automatically looked up. Plop! Another fat raindrop caught him in the eye. While he'd been brooding, storm clouds--something unseen in the skies until now--had moved in. "Wonderful," Picard muttered, turning and heading for the shelter of the trees. "Just wonderful." As if they didn't have enough to worry about.

**oOo**

Those two drops of rain turned out to be the signal for the start of what the two castaways could only assume to be the rainy season. They were followed by more drops, and more, until a virtual torrent streamed down almost constantly, seemingly unimpeded by the thick foliage.

After a day spent frantically working on a better roofing system for the two tree-houses, there was nothing for them to do. Especially since the snakes chose that time to come back out of the water and spend the bulk of their time slithering around the trails with no discernable pattern or timetable. Which made descending to the ground for anything but brief periods of time impossible.

Which in turn left them with nothing to do but talk to each other.

**oOo**

"I must have lost 15 pounds," Crusher commented on their fourth evening of enforced stay in the tree-houses. They were in Picard's this afternoon, lingering in each other's company after an early supper. Long summer days or not, the rain brought the night that much earlier, and it was almost impossible to keep a fire going in the pervasive dampness. The doctor glanced down at her hips with a slight grin. "Too bad Dee isn't here; she's been complaining that aerobics weren't helping her lose enough."

"Perhaps," Picard replied absently, his gaze trained on an unseen point in the distance, "she should stop rewarding herself for a good workout by having a hot-fudge sundae in Ten-Forward."

Crusher giggled behind one hand. "I wouldn't dare try and take her chocolate away from her; I'm not that brave."

"I don't believe it would be my place to say anything to her; it would have to be you," Picard countered with a lazy grin, sliding his eyes over to meet hers. He was perched on the edge of the platform, just under the shelter of his newly extended roof. "After all, you're not only her aerobics partner, you're her friend."

Crusher shook her head violently and shivered in mock fear, leaning her back more firmly against the trunk of the tree. "No way. Not in a million years. Not even if that were the only thing that would get Q to send us home--"

Oops. She'd done it now. Picard's eyes narrowed and he turned away from her sharply. Mentioning Q was the surest way to put the captain in a bad temper, especially during this period of enforced inactivity. Not that she was so awfully fond of the alien herself, but she had certain knowledge that Picard did not to make her reconsider what Q was up to.

She still wasn't certain how to act on that knowledge, nearly three weeks after the revealing document had made its appearance--and disappearance. Or if she even _should_ act on that knowledge. Somehow, she didn't think Jean-Luc would be too thrilled to discover that Q had "borrowed" his personal journal and left it for her to read. Conveniently open to a spot that was guaranteed to attract the doctor's attention. Nor would he be too thrilled to discover that she'd taken a bit longer to put temptation aside than he might feel was appropriate. She hadn't had the courage to tell him anything about the incident, not even that the book had appeared--which at least showed that Q was still somewhere around, still paying some slight attention to them, that he hadn't simply abandoned them here to rot. Crusher was ashamed of her cowardice, of the fact that she had that certainty while Picard did not. He seemed to feel that Q had, indeed, abandoned them, when she knew perfectly well that he hadn't, and it just wasn't fair to the captain to leave him in the dark a minute longer.

And not just about evidence of Q's continued interest in them, she decided as she studied his brooding profile. No, she owed it to Jean-Luc to tell the truth. Perhaps it would be better to have things out in the open; since they were both feeling the same feelings, it might do them a lot of good to talk about those feelings. At first, her reaction had been that he should be the one to initiate any sort of relationship, since he seemed to be the one who'd first discovered that his feelings toward her had changed. That had been good for the first week, until she admitted that she was merely trying to avoid the issue. Then she'd told herself that it wasn't the right time or place for such a discussion, that enforced isolation--Q enforced--on an alien world wasn't the right situation for important emotional revelations, but she was honest enough to admit that was just more procrastination. After all, what better time, what better place, would they find? They were alone, there was no one to interrupt them, and they would no doubt have plenty of time to thrash things out to their mutual satisfaction.

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly as something else occurred to her, something she hadn't considered until now. What if the journal wasn't really Picard's? What if Q had made up the volume, hoping she would do exactly what she was contemplating doing? Or worse, what if the book were legitimate, but the entries she had read were not? That would be Q's style; she knew he didn't like her, and of course the feeling was mutual. What if he wanted her to embarrass herself by revealing things to Jean-Luc that would do nothing but destroy their friendship? After all, he'd never really indicated such feelings to her in the past; all the evidence she had to go on was the book Q left for her to read and her own, subjective hopes.

She rose to her feet abruptly, unable to deal with her troubled thoughts a moment longer. Not with the object of those thoughts sitting right across from her, oblivious to her internal turmoil. Such thoughts required privacy, and a night's sleep to put them in perspective. More procrastination, but necessary, she decided. Very necessary. One way or another, she would speak to him in the morning. "Good night, Jean-Luc," she said, then turned and headed for her own sleeping area. She heard his startled, "Good night," as she plunged into the rain, moving a little faster than was probably safe on the slippery branches.

Crusher reached for a branch with one hand, letting go with the other a fraction of a second sooner than she should have. Her foot chose that moment to skid on an unseen patch of fallen leaves, and she lost her balance with a dismayed yelp.

Picard sprang to his feet at the sound of Beverly's incoherent yell, moving swiftly across the interwoven branches of his floor to the side leading to the doctor's shelter. He peered over the edge, calling her name urgently.

"Jean-Luc!"

He looked down, feeling his heart lurch as he saw Crusher's fingers desperately clutching the edge of the broad, almost flat branch they used as a footpath. She'd barely caught herself. "Hold on, Beverly!" he called down, cautiously lowering himself and grasping the guide branch firmly with one hand. It would do neither of them any good if he fell as well. "I'm coming!"

"My fingers are slipping," she said, her voice conversational but edged with the slightest tint of urgency. "And there aren't any branches near enough for my feet to reach."

"Just hold on," Picard urged, speeding his steps but maintaining a firm grip on the guide branch. He reached a spot near her fingers, then carefully lowered himself to one knee, gripping the branches tightly with one hand and leaning the other near his foot. "I'm going to grab your wrist," he said, enunciating each word clearly and speaking over the non-stop pattering of the heavy rain. "When I do, swing your other hand over to mine. I'll pull you up."

"Right," came the strained reply. It had the sound of a word escaping from between clenched teeth.

Picard silently cursed the rain and darkness once again as he rechecked his grasp. Once he felt secure, he leaned over and carefully reached for her wrist. He caught a handful of wet synthwool, tried for a better grip, then yelled as he started to lose his balance. His knee came down painfully on the doctor's fingers as he struggled to right himself. Crusher's wrist slid out of his grasp, and he heard her screech as her fingers contracted in automatic reaction to the pain, loosening their desperate grasp on the branch. The fingers of her other hand slid away from the wet branch with frightening speed, then disappeared from view as she fell.

"BEVERLY!" Picard hurried to swing himself down to the ground after her. He heard her crashing through the lower branches, then an ominous "thud" as she hit the ground. She hadn't made a sound since that first scream, and he sped down the tree in desperate fear. They weren't that high up, but with no medical facilities available to them--and only the most rudimentary knowledge of this planet's medicinal herbs and plants--any injury could be fatal. The branch extended over one of the paths; what if there were a snake down there? She could have hit her head on another branch and gotten a concussion, she could have broken a limb, she could even have snapped her neck...

With those gruesome thoughts for company, Picard finally arrived on the ground--thankfully free of snakes--and hurried toward the doctor's unmoving body. Bits of leaves and twigs rained down around him, disturbed by the speed of his passage, mixing with the rain to cling to his clothing and skin. He ignored them, concentrating on Beverly and forming half-remembered prayers from his childhood as he cautiously neared her. She was lying in the middle of the path, arms outstretched and decorated with the same litter of leaves and twigs that covered him. In the fading daylight, he could just see that she was breathing. He closed his eyes in relief, then opened them as he knelt gently by her side. He strained to see if there was any blood. "Beverly?" Picard said, barely breathing, his hand reaching to touch her cheek.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and met his. Their gazes remained locked until the doctor unexpectedly began to laugh. It was weak laughter, she was terribly out of breath, but it was laughter nonetheless. Startled, Picard pulled back, then frowned as she struggled to move, his hand moving from her cheek to her shoulders, his fingers pressing her back against the ground in concern. "Are you all right? Shouldn't you wait a little before moving?"

Crusher nodded weakly, waving him away as she rolled over onto her side. "I'll be all right; I'm just winded. And I'll have a hell of a bruise collection in the morning, not to mention a headache. But I'm fine," she reassured him, pulling herself to a sitting position as he pulled back a little and rested on his heels. "I haven't fallen out of a tree like that since I was ten, and when I saw you, you looked exactly the same way my cousin Samma's father did." Another small burst of laughter as her fingers moved to pluck the larger pieces of debris from her hair. "It just struck me as funny all of a sudden; nervous reaction, I guess. Sorry."

She didn't look at all apologetic, Picard noted with a feeling of outrage, but that wasn't important at the moment. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. Concussion was definitely still a worry, especially considering her reaction to what could have been a fatal fall.

"I'm the doctor; shouldn't I know when I'm all right?" she snapped, suddenly irritated at his concern, and irritated at herself for being irritated. It wasn't his fault he'd reminded her of her uncle. "I didn't black out, and I didn't hit my head hard enough for concussion; the branches broke my fall. I'm fine." She struggled to her feet, glaring down at him as she backed up a few steps. "I was just a little careless."

"Well, perhaps you would do better to be a little less careless in the future, Doctor," Picard snapped back. He was fuming now, the shock of her fall finally wearing off and reaction setting in. Fear had become concern, then relief, and now anger was surfacing. "You were lucky you didn't hurt yourself worse. We don't have any medical facilities here, you know." He returned her glare with one of his own. "We have to depend on each other to survive until the _Enterprise_ locates us." Without thinking, he added: "It's our duty."

It was the wrong thing to say. Her back stiffened and her eyes narrowed, his words seeming to prove the theory that had originally sent her fleeing his presence. Q had deliberately misled her with the journal, damn him, had wanted her to betray her feelings to someone who obviously didn't return them. She lashed out at Picard, dimly realizing that it wasn't his fault she'd allowed her desires to get ahead of her intellect, but too upset to care. "Is that all you were worried about?" Crusher's fingers dug into the palms of her hands as her hurt feelings overpowered her better judgement. "Just the natural concern of a captain for someone under his command? Someone who'd been stupid enough to get herself in trouble?"

Picard stared at her, completely taken aback by the intensity of her emotions. At the unexpected intensity of her emotions. "Why are you acting so belligerent?" he demanded, sounding more than a little belligerent himself. Not to mention frustrated, irritated and just plain mad. He had risen to his feet and stood with his hands on hips, glaring at the doctor from the opposite side of the narrow path, rain dripping down his face and off his chin. He'd just about had it, with Q and this whole situation, and Crusher's behavior wasn't helping at all.

"Because I love you, dammit!" Crusher shouted back, angrily shaking the rain from her own face, suddenly not caring if this was what Q wanted. She was tired of trying to second-guess the alien, tired of fighting her own emotions; it was as if the fall had knocked some sense into her head even as it had knocked the wind from her lungs.

Picard opened his mouth to make some other comment, and it remained open in shock as Crusher's words came pouring forth. Unstoppable.

"I love you, and that scares me more than any stupid little scenario Q could ever cook up, more than giant snakes or being stranded or even falling out of a tree. Because loving you means taking the chance of losing you, and it would be hard enough to lose you as a friend, much less as...something more." She closed her mouth and swallowed, hard, as the words finally stopped, seemingly of their own accord. She stared at Picard, as shocked by those words as he was; she hadn't intended to say any of them. Now, it was all out in the open. For better or for worse, the words had been spoken, the emotions acknowledged.

Without conscious thought, the doctor found herself suddenly much closer to the captain, whose mouth had finally snapped shut; had he moved, or had she? She wouldn't have been able to answer, not to save her own life. It wasn't important. All that mattered was that they now stood close enough to touch, staring into each other's eyes, Jean-Luc gauging the depth of emotion behind what she'd just revealed to him, Beverly gauging his reaction to that revelation.

Finally, Picard spoke. "I've never heard sweeter words," he said softly, "spoken in such anger. Can you forgive me for being a stubborn old fool, mon amour?" He reached up to gently touch her cheek. "I was so busy trying not to play Q's game that I completely ignored my own feelings." A pause. "He read my private journal and saw what I did not want to see, not until he forced me to realize what I'd been trying to tell myself. That my feelings for you had changed from friendship to...something more. Something much more."

Crusher tried a tentative smile as she murmured protestingly: "You're not so old. And I was trying just as hard not to let Q pull my strings." Another smile, this one not quite as wobbly. "So where does that leave us?"

Her answer was a slow smile as Picard cupped her face in his hands and stepped closer, softly placing his lips against hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, their bodies moving closer as the kiss deepened.

Neither of them noticed the hum of the transporter beam as it bore them triumphantly away.


	12. Privacy Be Damned

**The _Enterprise_**

O'Brien frowned. "I'm having a hard time separating their signals, sir," he reported to Riker.

"Keep trying!" The first officer snapped as he continued to pace anxiously in front of the transporter pad.

Troi glanced over at him uneasily from her unobtrusive post by the door. "I'm still sensing intense, turbulent emotions," she reported. "It's difficult to tell exactly what they represent." Her voice was apologetic.

The _Enterprise_ had finally located the missing pair through sheer luck. They had almost passed this system by; initial scans indicated no planet capable of supporting human life, and Q had capriciously taken Vash's holographic projector away. At least, they assumed he had taken it, since it had vanished from Vash's room without a trace almost a week ago. Vash had called it a good sign, an indication that they must be getting closer. Now, it seemed she was right. Data had detected something not quite right about those scanner readings; he and Geordi had discovered that there was some sort of natural shielding created by the asteroid belt and the three gas giants that made up the rest of the system. Shielding that caused the little Class M planet to appear as an inert, dead body, much like its two small moons.

It was while they were coming into orbit that Troi was finally able to pick up emotions emanating from intelligent life forms--two intelligent life forms, to be exact. "They're here," she'd turned to Riker to report, her voice tense with repressed excitement. "It has to be them."

That belief was confirmed, at least indirectly, by the fact that Vash suddenly disappeared from the bridge, her face startled. Direct evidence was afforded mere seconds later, when Q's disembodied voice rang out: "Took you long enough," and Data confirmed that the sensor readings were, indeed, indicating two humanoid life forms in the southern hemisphere.

Now they were ready to transport the captain and Dr. Crusher back to the ship. Two people whose emotions had undergone a series of alarming changes since the ship came into transporter range, from relative calm to desperate fear to chaotic, unexplained turmoil.

"Got 'em!" O'Brien's triumphant exclamation interrupted Troi's thoughts, and she returned her attention to the present. The Transporter Chief's hands moved delicately over the control board. "They're pretty close to each other, that's what was confusing the signal. I'll have to bring them up together--"

"If they're that close and that agitated, they must be in some kind of danger. You'd better hurry it up!" Riker snapped urgently.

O'Brien nodded. "Beaming them up--now!" All eyes turned toward the transporter pad and the sparkling pattern that visibly corroborated O'Brien's success.

The pattern coalesced into two forms, extremely close together, just as O'Brien had reported. However, if they were in some sort of danger, Troi thought with relieved amusement, it was only the possible danger of melting the transporter pad.

Riker stared with increasingly wider eyes at the two bedraggled, soaking wet forms, clothing and hair littered with leaves and small twigs. But it wasn't that sight that shocked him into silence; it was the fact that the two people they'd just rescued were locked in what Troi privately rated as one of the most passionate embraces she had ever seen. The emotions she now sensed from the doctor and the captain left no room for doubt; the ones emanating from the first officer and Chief O'Brien, however, were decidedly mixed.

After a few seconds passed and Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher showed no signs of breaking their clinch, Riker cleared his throat. Still no reaction. He glanced over at Troi, raised an eyebrow, and cleared his throat again. Loudly.

Two pairs of eyes snapped opened, noticed where they were, and widened in unison. Two pairs of lips hastily parted, and two bodies pulled abruptly apart. Picard's blush crept to the very top of his head as he self-consciously tugged at his shirt, and Dr. Crusher's cheeks very nearly matched her hair in color as her hands fluttered in a useless, reflexive attempt to straighten her tattered clothing.

"Um, welcome back," Riker finally found the ability to say, although his tone was more questioning than welcoming. Troi, who had moved to his side, frowned and nudged him in the ribs. He winced, then returned his attention to the two people in front of them. "It's good to have you back."

Picard nodded regally. "It's...good to be back," he answered with only a slight hesitation. He took a single step toward the edge of the transporter pad, then stopped. "The captain is a very private man" rang through his mind. Beverly's words, Q's words, about him. Not this time. Shaking his head, he reached back to take Beverly's hand firmly in his own. A slow smile replaced the slightly disappointed expression that had briefly blossomed on her face and they walked off the pad together, hand in hand. "Is the _Far Traveller_ still around, Number One?" Picard asked as they stopped in front of the console.

Riker nodded, looking slightly taken aback, either at the question or at the fact that the captain and the CMO were holding hands like a pair of teenaged sweethearts; Troi wasn't sure which. "Geordi's crew finished the repairs within a few hours of initial contact, and they've been helping us search for you ever since," he replied after a hesitant pause. Even without resorting to her empathic abilities, Troi could tell he was at a complete loss. On the other hand, the small wink Beverly gave her while Will's attention was on the captain was all Troi needed. She winked back, then put an appropriately sober expression on her face as the first officer glanced down at her again in confusion.

"Good," Picard murmured. He glanced back at Crusher and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She nodded, still smiling. Picard allowed a brief smile to cross his own face, then looked back at Riker. "Please ask my cousin if she would do us the honor of presiding at our wedding," he announced casually, moving purposefully toward the door. "Ask her to be ready in..." He glanced down at himself and his somewhat worse-for-wear uniform and grimaced before continuing. "Give us about five hours, once we're done getting checked out in Sickbay. Is that enough time, Beverly?" He looked over at her once more as they paused in front of the door, his voice tender.

She nodded once again. "More than enough." The CMO's eyes moved from his to those of a hugely grinning Deanna Troi. "Come on, Dee, the maid of honor always helps the bride get ready." She waved gaily to the others as she and Picard started moving again. "I wonder what I should wear. And I'd better contact Wesley--" The doors slid shut behind the two of them, cutting off her words.

Troi looked up at Riker critically, gauging the level of shock. "You'd better come along too, Will," she said gently. "I think the best man has a lot of things to do in just five hours." _Struck dumb twice within five minutes_, she thought to herself in amusement. _A new record._ She reached up with one finger to close his still-open mouth. "Come on, Will," she urged, tugging gently at his hand. "We haven't much time."

He finally allowed himself to be pulled along, but not without turning to stare in continued bemusement at Miles O'Brien. The transporter chief merely shrugged in an eloquent "what can I say" gesture. "Coincidentally, I get off duty in a few hours," he commented, directing his words to Troi. "Keiko and I should have no problem getting a babysitter."

Troi smiled. "Ten-Forward in five hours; and please make an announcement to the crew, if you don't mind. I've a feeling I'll be a little busy." O'Brien nodded enthusiastically as she added: "Don't be late!" Then the door was closing and she and Will were in the corridor, but not before she heard O'Brien mutter to himself, "It must have been some kiss, if they didn't even notice they were being transported."

Troi continued to smile serenely as she lead a now-docile Will Riker down the hall. Just like she'd told Crusher, things had a way of working out in the end.

**Epilogue**

"Was it really necessary to give Deanna that awful headache?" Vash asked, her voice tinged with exasperation as she and Q materialized in the middle of their floating "Ski Lodge." She deliberately turned her back on him and held her hands out to the fire, still uncertain of her reactions to the little scene she and Q had just invisibly witnessed. Any vague ideas of sharing some part of her future with Jean-Luc Picard had certainly been banished by that announcement of marriage. Not that the kiss had left any doubts; he'd certainly never kissed _her_ like that...

"Why, Vash, I thought you knew me better than that," Q protested, plopping onto the sofa. "I merely made use of my exquisite sense of timing." She glanced back over her shoulder questioningly as he continued: "As you know, I've made your mind immune to telepathic scans of any type. One of the unfortunate side effects of that process is that anyone trying to 'read' you gets a blinding headache after a short period of time--a headache that lasts for about a week and is unfortunately unaffected by conventional medication. So you see," he finished with a flourish, "the counselor actually brought it on herself. I simply waited for the right moment to make my appearance."

"Ah," was Vash's noncommittal response.

Q glanced at her sidelong. She was still angry, he could hear it in her voice, but not as angry as she had been--and not as angry as she would be if she ever found out that he'd orchestrated this little incident from the very beginning, starting with a certain unexpected "ion storm" that disabled a certain Free Trader just long enough to divert a certain Galaxy-class starship. His little experiment had been a complete success.

Well, almost complete. A petulant frown crossed Q's face. Although he had successfully proven to Vash that she still had feelings for the esteemed Captain of the _Enterprise_--the true reason he had brought all of this to pass, in spite of everyone's incorrect conclusions otherwise--he had also inadvertently brought Picard and Crusher together on what might be considered a permanent basis. Or at least as permanent a basis as such ephemeral beings as humans could manage. Disappointing, that, but it _did_ have the saving grace of being unexpected; it was one of the few times Picard hadn't reacted exactly as Q thought he would. He would've sworn that the _Enterprise's_ captain would continue to ignore his feelings for the ship's CMO out of that over-developed sense of duty he had. If only Vash could see his point...Q looked over at her again.

A small smile was hovering about her lips. Q blinked in surprise, turned to look at her fully. "What are you smiling about?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," she replied evasively, refusing to meet his eyes. The smile deepened as she saw her missing projector, nestled innocently in the middle of the white bearskin rug. She touched the button, and a star chart sprang into existence. "Where to next?" she asked casually, leaning over and pretending interest in their next destination. "The Gamma Quadrant?"

Q's frown deepened, but Vash continued to ignore him. She'd be damned if she'd ever let him know that there was still some small part of her that loved a happy ending.

After all, Q wasn't the only one allowed to have secrets.

_Author's Note: So. Tell me what you think._


End file.
